The Fiction of Hermann Böschenstein

T h e Fiction of Hermann Böschenstein
ARMIN ARNOLD, McGill University
In October 1969, German Life and Letters published a special number in
honor of Hermann Böschenstein's seventieth anniversary. It contained a short
biography and a bibliography—compiled by Humphrey Milnes. Among the
ten books and thirty-three articles listed, there is only one item which could
be considered as "creative writing"—a volume of translations: Kanadische Lyrik:
Übertragungen. ' T h e first item on the list is dated November 1928: an essay
on George Santayana which appeared in Schweizer Rundschau. Few people know
that Böschenstein had published a book as early as 1921—a novel entided
Die Mutter und der neutrale Sohn.2 Of course, Milnes could not know that, in
1969, Böschenstein had a number of short stories in his desk which were to
be published in 1974: Unter Schweizern in Kanada: Kurzgeschichten.3 There is
also a third book of fiction—a second novel, Im Roten Ochsen: Geschichte einer
Heimkehr, written in the seventies. 4
It must be a rare phenomenon in literary history—an author publishing two
novels, one at the age of 21, the next 56 years later, at the age of 77.
Another curious fact is that one of the female protagonists is based—in
both works—on the same person: Böschenstein's wife Elisabeth Schoch
(deceased 1976). In the first novel she appears as Elisabeth in the speculations
of Böschenstein's alter ego Kaspar, in the 1977 novel as Martha SchneblinZollinger.
Böschenstein was born on May 1, 1900 in Stein am Rhein—a small Swiss
town on the north side of the river, twelve miles u p from Schaffhausen,
and within a mile from the German border. Stein had no "Gymnasium,"
and the teenager had to travel daily to Schaffhausen by train. He obtained
his "Maturität" in 1919 and then registered—for a short time only— at the University of Zürich. As is to be expected, World War I commanded the attention
of everybody at that time. Switzerland was "neutral," but the borders with
Germany were virtually closed. Zürich, about 30 miles from Schaffhausen,
was one of the centers where German exiles met. At the Spiegelgasse, for
instance, where Goethe had visited Lavater and where Büchner had lived and
died, Lenin now prepared his revolution and Arp and Ball founded the
Cabaret Voltaire. In Zürich appeared Schickele's periodical Die Weissen Blätter and
Leonhard Frank's volume of "Novellen" Der Mensch ist gut. Böschenstein, always
an avid reader of the most recent literary output, steeped himself in
expressionism. After the borders were open again, he took the boat across
Lake Constance and then the train to Munich. He stayed and studied in
Munich, Berlin, Kiel, and Königsberg, ending up in Rostock where he received
his Ph.D. in 1924.
'Hermann Böschenstein, Kanadische Lyrik (Berne: Feuz, 1938).
2
Hermann Böschenstein, Die Mutter und der neutrale Sohn (Leipzig: Xenien, 1921).
'Hermann Böschenstein, Unter Schweizern in Kanada: Kurzgeschichten (Basel: Gute Schriften, 1974).
'Herman Böschenstein, Im Roten Ochsen: Geschichte einer Heimkehr (Schaffhausen: Verlag Meier, 1977).
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The International Fiction Retnew, 5, No. 1 (1978)
Böschenstein must have completed his first novel in 1920—probably in
Munich since it contains a short description of his trip from Switzerland to
that city. Die Mutter und der neutrale Sohn is, on the one hand, a typical
example of expressionist prose, on the other, one of the earliest parodies
of the expressionist novel. It is a clever book—with several layers of meaning.
Die Mutter und der neutrale Sohn consists of three parts and an appendix.
The central figure in the first part is Erika—the mother. Her biography is
given in one short page—in the rapid notation invented by Kasimir Edschmid
in 1915 (Die sechs Mündungen). The following sentence is typical: "Sie ging
nach Hause, schloss die Fenster ihres Zimmers und spielte ein wenig Violine,
aber wie gesagt, zur Künstlerin war sie nicht schamlos genug." Characteristic
of Böschenstein's kind of writing is the use of plastic expressions for abstract
phenomena, for instance: "Sie musste einen Glauben haben, um dessen Nacken
sie die Arme schlingen[konnte]."
T h e author's sense of irony and parody becomes apparent from the second
page. A leitmotif of expressionism is "der Schrei," the scream. Erika, meditating
on a bench, hears a scream. She jumps up and finds a child on the bank of a
river. A note left with the child explains that the child's mother had j u m p e d
into the water. In her surprise, Erica swears in Swiss German: "Gottfried
Stutz!" There is an abundance of expressionist pathos in the novel, but it is
never sustained: in each case Böschenstein destroys the pathetic mood by
throwing in Swiss dialect expressions, irony, and parody.
Erika is a "super-woman" and a "neuer Mensch." Having found this
child, she immediately changes her life and abandons her studies.
" . . .
jauchzend dringt es jetzt heraus: ich werde Kinderschwester." While working
as a nurse, Erika brings up the boy she had found and joins—by pure accident—a
left-wing organization. In expressionism, things usually happen without
apparent motives: "Auf einmal wurde sie zur Präsidentin gewählt, stand nun
vorne, wurde Brennpunkt aller Augen, fühlte sich schwindelnd emporgeschleudert
wie ein tanzender Ball auf Wasserstrahlen, aus ihrem Zentrum drang heiliger
Wille in schmeichelnde Düfte von Phrasen, sie sauste auf Flügeln rauschender
Reden umher und wiederholte immer den einen Schrei, aus Glaube und
Eitelkeit: Revolution!" (p. 12).
Internal evidence suggests that the second part of the novel begins on
page 13 (Parts I and III are indicated properly, but the figure II is nowhere
to be found. I suspect the author did this intentionally since—later in the
book—he reproduces some passages from Kaspar's diary, numbering them 1, 3
and 4!). Erika has adopted the boy she had found and—ironically—called
him Kaspar. He is now about twenty years old, and she sends him out
into the world: "Sie schickte ihn in die Welt hinaus, er sollte Heerscharen
sammeln und am Tage des Kampfes zu ihr stossen. Aber seine Erlebnisse
warren andere, nach den ersten Schritten schwankte er, Farben, Mädchen u n d
Musik verwirrten ihn"(p. 13).
There follows a long series of letters which Kaspar writes to his mother—
they explain the title of the book. While Erika (like Germany) is a revolutionary,
Kaspar—and he is partly an autobiographical projection of Böschenstein—
remains "neutral," just like Switzerland during the War. Sometimes he feels
like a coward, and in one instance he tries to impress a giri by telling her
lies about his heroism in battle. T h e passage is a hilarious parody of
Edschmid's style.
Hermann Böschenstein
53
Again and again, Kaspar thinks of Elisabeth. Sometimes he soberly
tells himself that it would be best to go home, marry her, and become a
respectable and useful citizen. On other occasions he puts his longing for her
into the form of a parody on expressionist prose: "Aufsprang er und fühlte
Sehnsucht, gegen die man toben, schreien, springen, wandern, weinen, wund
sich schlagen könnte, dass es eine Freude war. Rasch stürzte er ins Freie,
warf sich in die Wälder, stemmte sich von Baum zu Baum, zog Schritt um
Schritt aus weichen Feldern, erstieg die Müdigkeit . . ." (p. 20).
Böschenstein's novel contains a number of amusing stylistic experiments.
One of Kaspar's letters—written when he is drunk—is mainly composed of
sentences from German "Trinklieder." Later on Böschenstein inserts dadaist
prose and poetry. Several of Kaspar's letters contain hilarious anecdotes
and humorous pseudophilosophical reflections. Evidently, Böschenstein had read
Schloss Nomepygge and/or other books by Max Brod and was familiar with
Brod's "Indifferentismus." T h e high point of part II is, no doubt, the only
letter Erika ever sent to her son—in answer to more than a dozen of his letters.
T h e text is as follows:
Ich glaubte, Du wolltest die Erde zerstampfen, nun kriechst Du wie
ein Wurm darüber hin. Würmer kann man nicht peitschen, nur zertreten.
Ich habe grosse Lust dazu, Du rückenloses Wesen. Mir ekelt vor Dir,
der Du unfähig bist der Strammheit aufragenden Leibes. Weiber und
Lieder sind Dir in die Knie gefahren. Nun suchst Du Deinen Schlotter
zu heilen mit Pfarrer und Bibelsprüchen . . . Raffe Dich zusammen!
Lass Deine Wahnsinnswuchten kreisen und fräse hinein in die Paläste
der Schlemmer, durch die Hälse der Prasser, und wandle lachend über
die Zacken ihrer Trümmer. Führe mich zum Tanze unter den Bögen
ihrer Blutstrahlen! Revolution! (p. 26)
Towards the end of the second part we find parodies of Edschmid ("Wie
herrlich, sich selbst zu erahnen, sich erschauernd abzutasten, indem ich mit
den Händen esse, in den Wagen eines reichen Mannes steige, hemdärmelig
zur Kirche gehe, Frauen prügle, singe, fluche,- miau mache und sonst alles,
was d e r Leib n u r kann!" p. 31), of "Indifferentismus" ("Er fühlte,
dass die Darstellung dieser vollkommenen Gleichgültigkeit einen Ausdruck
verlangte . . ." p. 35), and of dadaism of the Kurt Schwitters variety:
Apfelmus auf deinen Händen
Hosiannah die Zigarre.
Den Papier geschnitten wenden,
Maienkäfer an den Wänden,
Alles feine frische Ware
Doch der Strohhut an den Füssen
Und der ganze Kegelklub,
Springen H ü h n e r Hähne müssen
Dada - wada - lada - wup. (pp. 38-39)
Part II ends with Kaspar trying to become a new man; he pities and helps
the poor, refuses to accompany his friend into the army, has visions and
dreams and wants to be like a tree: "Wie der Baum will ich sein! rief Kaspar,
von allen Seiten nimmt er, nach allen Seiten gibt er" (p. 44). His friend
dies in battle; in a way, Kaspar now feels ashamed, a coward—a "neutral."
Kaspar drowns his sorrows: "[Er] stürzte mit Sicherheit entgegen seinem letzten,
besten Freund, dem Wein" (p. 49).
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The International Fiction Review, 5, No. 1 (1978)
Part III consists of two pages and is devoted, like part I, to Erika.
Her search for justice has taken on gigantic proportions. In the end she is
hit by a bullet. T h e appendix has three pages and is entitled "Satyrspiel."
Kaspar drowns his sorrows: [Er] stürzte mit Sicherheit entgegen seinem letzten,
of a hunt, and hangs himself with his suspenders. T h e last sentence: "Er
fiel, und die Hosenträger waren stark genug."
Böschenstein has called his work a "Jugendsünde." This little novel,
however, is one of the most interesting pieces of expressionist prose. Here is
a highly intelligent man, familiar with the authors of the day: Edschmid,
Frank, Sternheim, Schwitters, who intends to write a novel which will be largely
autobiographical. Since he is acquainted with all expressionist techniques of
writing, he uses them—but while using them he feels that he is not being
original, that he is artificially making up a style which does not really suit him.
Hence the irony and the parodies. In a way, Böschenstein was in the same
position as Caesar von Arx, the Swiss dramatist, who tried to produce an
expressionist play—and turned out a parody: Moritat. Von Arx, too, left
Switzerland for Germany after the War and spent the years 1920-1923 in
Leipzig. Böschenstein's early novel is an inverted expressionist tale: it is
usually the father who is conservative and the son who is a revolutionary,
while the mother—standing between father and son—suffers. In this novel,
there is no father at all, the mother is the revolutionary, and the son the
conservative. I know of no other expressionist novel with this parodistic sort
of constellation.
There seems to have been no great echo to Die Mutter und der neutrale
Sohn. In 1924, Böschenstein continued his peregrinations: he worked as a
private tutor in Austria, traveled in Italy and France, went to Canada
(including the West Coast), and then did what he had advised in his novel:
"Zu Elisabeth wollte er, sie heiraten, Kinder mit ihr zeugen, Haus und Hof
m e h r e n , Mineralien sammeln, Goethes sämtliche Gedichte auswendig
lernen . . ." (p. 44). He returned to Switzerland in May 1928, married,
and emigrated a second time to Canada where he became Professor of German
at the University of Toronto. In 1942, Böschenstein took leave of absence
and became Director of the Canadian War Prisoners' Aid of the Y.M.C.A.
In 1946, he returned to his university position.
The eighteen short stories and anecdotes collected in Unter Schweizern
in Kanada, all told in the first person singular, cover the years 1926 to
about 1947. They seem to be strictly autobiographical; they are written in
an unassuming, polished German—reminding one of Meinrad Inglin's prose.
Böschenstein is less interested in the Canadian landscape than in the
characters he describes: mainly people he knew during his vagabond days in
the Twenties (1926-1928) and during World War II. In 1927, Böschenstein
worked as a doorman in Victoria (British Columbia) where he met a number
of highly unpleasant immigrants: a conceited German who knew everything
better; immigrants who were too proud to adjust to a different way of life;
ruthless crooks who had no scruples to rob even those who had helped them
formerly. Böschenstein's best stories are the bitter ones, and the unsavory
characters are most memorable. One of his outstanding figures is Wirz who,
with 30,000 dollars in his pocket, manages to convince his poor compatriots
to work for him and feed him.
During World War II, Böschenstein traveled all over Canada, bringing
relief to hundreds of Germans in prison camps. He describes a number of
pleasant, unpleasant, and hilarious situations; the best story in this section
Hermann Böschenstein
55
of the book is devoted to McCurdy, conductor of the weekly train from Sioux
Lookout to Port Arthur. Chronologically the last tale seems to be "Richmond"—
which describes the homecoming of a crippled soldier after World War II.
To conclude from the tenor of the eighteen stories, Böschenstein is still a
pacifist and more interested in lower-class people than in others. He has a
good heart and—as to solidarity—an attitude halfway between Hemingway and
the early Steinbeck.
In many ways, these sketches represent—from an artistic point of view—
Böschenstein's most convincing book. The ambition, the literary cleverness,
and the sense of parody which stood behind his expressionist novel have
disappeared. The sketches are the work of an older man who has gone
through many hardships and who has few illusions left. But he has not become
a cynic; he has preserved a good sense of humor and his irony.
T h e volume, however, is not even: some short stories and character
sketches are impressive and of high quality, others are rather superficial
or just anecdotes. While Unter Schweizern in Kanada is, probably, Böschenstein's
most readable book and tells us more about the author than Die Mutter
und der neutrale Sohn or Im Roten Ochsen, it is, from the point of view of the
literary critic, less interesting than the two novels.
Having returned to the University of Toronto in 1946, Böschenstein
became Head of the German Department in 1956, published the two volumes
of his major work of literary criticism, Deutsche Gefühlskultur (1956, 1966)
and retired in 1972. At that point, he decided to write a novel—a novel
about his home town of Stein am Rhein and about his friends there. After
World War II, Böschenstein and his wife had returned to Stein often, had
owned an apartment there, and kept in close touch with friends and relatives.
For a time they had considered returning permanently to Stein, but then had
decided to stay on in Toronto for at least a few months every year—to be
near their children.
There are at least three books to which Im Roten Ochsen can be compared:
Gottfried Keller's Martin Salander, Wilhelm Raabe's Stopfkuchen and Abu Telfan.
(Böschenstein has published two books on Keller and written extensively on
Raabe in the second volume of Deutsche Gefühlskultur.) The style of Im Roten
Ochsen is quite unique and personal; it is, in many ways, reminiscent of
Arnold Kübler's style.
T h e novel is told in the third-person singular. Karl Schneblin (Böschenstein) returns with his wife Martha (Elisabeth) to Gandurum (Stein am Rhein)
where they own an apartment. While Karl and his former schoolfriends
spend much time behind drinks in the Gasthaus "Zum Roten Ochsen" (it exists
under this name in Stein am Rhein, and even Elsi, the waitress, is genuine),
Martha often travels to Scafusien (Schaffhausen) where she has relatives.
Karl and his wife do not come from Canada, but—like Leonhard Hagebucher
in Abu Telfan and Eduard in Stopfkuchen—-from Africa where Karl (who has
studied agriculture) runs a plantation. Hagebucher's purpose in returning
was—says Böschenstein in Deutsche Gefühlskultur—"seinen deutschen Zeitgenossen
die Leviten zu lesen, ihnen den kritischen Spiegel vorzuhalten und bessere
öffentliche Zustände zu erzwingen" (II, p. 231). Martin Salander was written
with a similar purpose in mind—by a disillusioned and bitter man. Schneblin
has little in common with Hagebucher or Salander, but resembles Eduard—who
has not come in order to criticize, but to meet old friends and to hear the
story of Heinrich Schaumann and Tinchen Quakatz. Raabe tells us little about
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Eduard, and we learn even less about Karl Schneblin's life after he had left
Switzerland. As in the case of Stopfkuchen,, we are informed about the fate of
those who had continued to live at home. Böschenstein tells us how his
compatriots had fared during the depression, during World War II, and during
the "Wirtschaftswunder." Clearly, Karl has often been homesick; living in Africa,
he has envied those who had been able to make their career in Gandurum.
Many welcome him with enthusiasm; he has some sincere friends—people with
golden hearts who could have stepped over from a novel by Leonhard Frank.
There is some social criticism—mainly connected with the person of Alfred
who has had a miserable life with his foster father; and also: some of the local
people had sympathized with the Nazis.
Karl devotes his time in Gandurum to two main tasks: he renews contacts
with his friends of fifty years ago, and he writes down his memoirs in
connection with the first "Flugtag" in Gandurum. This took place a few years
before World War I. The story of Reverend Gysi, who built Gandurum's
first airplane ("Leichter-als-die-Luft") and its pilot Gustav (a student at the
"Gymnasium" and—partly—a projection of young Böschenstein) has all the
humor and irony of Gottfried Keller's "Novellen" about Seldwyla. It takes up
more than a third of the novel and is a masterpiece of historical realism,
irony, and humor. Gustav dies in the end, but one can just as well laugh
as cry about this denouement of a revolutionary teenager.
As in his first novel, Böschenstein is quite self-conscious; why is Karl
writing a novel? He has made up his mind, "Gandurum auf die literarische
Landkarte zu setzen" (p. 28). But is he capable of writing a good novel?
He puts his own skepticism into the mouth of the publisher to whom Martha
has shown parts of the manuscript: (1) Why write about Gandurum rather
than about Africa? A novel about Africa would find more readers. (2) Is the
author—after spending too many years away from home—capable of dealing
with this very Swiss topic? ("Verfasser dürfte zu lange im Ausland gelebt haben,
um sich in der Seelenverfassung unseres Menschenschlages noch auszukennen.
Die Psychologie des Homo helveticus hat schon tieferen Denkern, als Herr
Schneblin einer ist, grosse Rätsel gestellt." P. 139) There are two more points
which carry less weight.
Böschenstein's novel did, indeed, put Stein am Rhein on the literary
map. The present writer passed through Stein in October 1977; the novel-was
prominently displayed in the one little bookstore there. T h e press had received
the book with enthusiasm. Visiting the "Rote Ochsen," I met the lady called
Elsi in the book, and she confirmed that the novel was being read by everybody
in the region; the "Rote Ochsen" was profiting from the book.
While most of the novel is amusing and—for the initiated—probably
hilarious, by far the best part is the "novel in the. novel": the story of the
"Leichter-als-die-Luft." T h e rest is—in tone and atmosphere—somewhat too
low-key; like Eduard in Stopfkuchen, Karl remains a rather colorless figure;
Böschenstein is no Max Frisch and too modest and too discreet about
himself—and about his wife and his friends. When he writes about the frescos
and the Americans to whom they are explained, he is excellent. But the
moment he touches upon his friends or himself, the novel loses color and
vitality. No such inhibitions prevail in connection with Reverend Gysi, Gustav
and the airplane. This had happened before World War I—and nobody
could possibly be offended now.
Hermann Böschenstein
57
Evaluating Böschenstein's fiction, one comes to the conclusion that he
could easily have become an author of the stature of Inglin or Kubier—
had he continued to write fiction after 1921. His expressionist novel is a
unique document; now rediscovered, it will always have a place in the canon
of expressionist literature. T h e sketches of 1974 will be recognized as one of
the few outstanding works in the meagre field of ethnic literature (German)
in Canada. Im Roten Ochsen will have a respectable place in histories of
Swiss-German literature; the best chance for long survival and a large readership has "Leichter-als-die-Luft"—a "Novelle" which can stand the comparison
with some of Keller's tales in Die Leute von Seldwyla and which can easily
be detached from the novel and transferred into an anthology.
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The International Fiction Review, 5, No. 1 (1978)